


Fikrul X Female Guardian

by TheMadWriter121



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, friend betrayal, lotsa hurt in this one, no explicit stuff in this first chapter, that's for the next chapter ;3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadWriter121/pseuds/TheMadWriter121
Summary: The guardian is betrayed at a very personal level by her fireteam. Decisions are made, sides are switched.





	1. Chapter 1

Being too nice can, and will, get you put on ice. Or, in rare cases, others.

It was a normal match of Gambit Prime. The Collector was banking motes as quickly as possible, always finding her way back to the heels of the Reaper. The Invader was granting the two as much time as she could afford them, to bank their motes and get their Primeval up, as possible, and the Sentry was guarding the bank. Everything was going smoothly, until…

‘Invader inbound!’

Everyone’s nerves were set on edge upon hearing the Drifter’s comm announcement. There was now an enemy Invader in their arena. The Sentry readied his sniper rifle, swiveling back and forth looking for the discernable flash of red that would cast an aura around the Invader. A shot rang out and he whipped around just in time to see the Reaper hit the ground. Damnit! The bastard was quick! He looked downscope again as their team’s Invader appeared back in their arena. She, however, went down not two seconds after landing on the ground, another shot from the unseen Invader hitting her in the back. The Sentry looked quickly through his sniper scope. He’d only just missed seeing them, the residue blink waves left from a Warlock, so he knew what kind of guardian he was dealing with now.

The Sentry looked back towards where the only standing member besides him was. The Collector was looking around, scared out of her wits, and carrying the last chunk of motes they would need to summon the Primeval. A round of sniper fire hit the ground by her feet, sending her toppling over to the side with a yelp and her scout rifle out of reach. The Sentry went to grab her hand and help her up when he was suddenly tackled to the ground by someone. That someone was the Invader, who quickly dispatched the Collector with a hand cannon round. The Sentry watched as all her collected motes were lost in a flourish of light, the motes springing from her body as it hit the ground. Before he could get himself turned around in the Invader’s grasp, the Sentry felt the barrel of the hand cannon against his temple. The sound of the weapon discharging filled his ears, then he, along with the enemy Invader soon after, were gone.

They lost the single round of Gambit Prime because of this. Just like that, their team was less infamous, and they were all pissed. Especially the Sentry. He would have to work harder now to keep his place on his Gambit team. Work to earn their trust back. It wouldn’t be easy, and it was all that Invader Warlock’s fault. 

 

On the opposing team, the Warlock and her team of three Hunters were celebrating their nearly flawless victory. Just as the invading guardian had gotten back, she had flew up and into the air, cast her super, and decimated the Primeval while it was on its last legs. Their victory was announced, and now the four were at a restaurant in the Last City. The Hunters were bragging on their own abilities during the match, but kept coming back to their Invader.

“How do you do it?” One Hunter inquired. “I could never imagine aiming my gun at another guardian and pulling the trigger with no hesitation like that.”

Now, at first glance anywhere out of the Crucible or Gambit, this Warlock looked as if she wouldn’t be caught dead doing just that. The woman had a soft, kind face. One that you would expect to see behind the cover of a book, researching in the Tower’s library, or even on the body of a daycare worker for children. She was soft-spoken, modest, and liked to think that she contributed to every activity she helped with as a member of a team equally, which she always did, but didn’t like to brag.

“Oh, you know.” She began. “It’s just part of playing the game, I suppose. You have to be quick on your feet and spry of wit when compromised.”

“Don’t listen to her, man. She’s too modest.” One Hunter chimed in. She was one that wasn’t just on the Warlock’s Gambit team as the Reaper, but her own Fireteam, as well.

She waved off the compliment. “Well, we wouldn’t have gotten as many motes as quickly without that modified auto rifle I gave you.”

“We would’ve gotten our asses handed to us if it weren’t for our ‘relentless invader’ over here!” The third Hunter, also on her fireteam, stated and slapped her on the shoulder. She was the Collector. “I do have to say, though, the mobility mods you gave me for this armor set work like a dream.”

“They were the last ones I had, too.” The guardian stated softly.

The four sat and chatted for another few minutes until the Warlock’s Ghost appeared and relayed a message. She got up from the table and dusted off her robes.

“Where you going, man?” The Reaper asked.

The guardian smiled proudly and said. “I have to get ready. I’ve got a date tonight.”

The three Hunters all shared a collectively suggestive “Ooooohhhh”, and the Collector asked. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“You’re going to think I’m silly”, She started, “but he’s actually the Sentry from that last Gambit Prime match. The one on the opposing team?”

She felt a little tinge of embarrassment when all three burst into laughter at hearing this. ‘It was in jest, of course’, She told herself silently.

“What a constitution on the guy! Does he know that you were the one who absolutely kicked the shit out of his team earlier?” The Reaper asked.

They had never been put up against this particular Sentry’s team before. Today just had to be the day for the guardian to go up against her date’s team, didn’t it? And they had beaten them badly. However, she had been careful to conceal her identity, from staying out of his line of sight to keeping him pinned backwards as she finished her job of dispatching his team’s Collector, then pulling the trigger on him before his superior strength left her revealed.

“He doesn’t know that it was me, no.” She answered meekly. “And I would like it to stay that way, for as long as possible. Now that I helped his team lose today.”

With her final comment, she was once again reminded by her Ghost that it was time and departed. As she hurried back to her flat in the tower, her mind was racing. She had been on several dates in the past few months, all of which had gone downhill almost immediately. So, with this new date just around the corner, she was determined to make this work. The Warlock had said all the right things, dotted her I’s and crossed her T’s with this guy…

She was going to make this work. 

 

The Reaper and Collector got back to their shared flat late. Both were a bit drunk, stumbling through the door and not even trying to be quiet. They shushed each other playfully, pushing each other around the place.

“Do you think that it worked?” The Reaper inquired, slurring her words.

“Oh, oh yeah. *hic*” Stated the Collector. “The guy is a professional. ‘s been doin’ it for the past few months without fail yet, huh?”

The women were giggling in spurts, but one caught onto another sound that was coming from inside their flat.

Crying.

They sobered up as quick as being giggly drunk would allow for them and made their way quietly down the hall. Both knew who the crying was coming from, as they opened the door to their other flat mate’s room. The Warlock sat, curled up into a ball and crying, in the corner of her bedroom.

The two Hunters gave each other knowing looks and knocked on the door lightly, as not to startle the poor girl. The guardian sniffed hard, looked up and saw her roommates. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, standing to greet them. She looked at them, however, and she could tell that they already knew what this was about.

The Reaper leaned against the door frame. “No good? Again?”

The Warlock began to cry once more, the tears coming as easily as they did the first time, hours ago. “He found out.” She said between sobs “He found out that I was the Invader.”

The Hunters tried to comfort their friend with assertions like “If he’s so sore about it, then he’s not for you.” and “He’s a fool if he thinks that’s the real you.” and such. But nothing seemed to console the Warlock. She confided in them what the Sentry had said to her, and it had truly made her feel awful.

“Out here, you’re fine. But in there? You’re… you’re a monster.”

He’d said this all while pointing a sidearm at her, his finger on the trigger. He had ended his tirade of her depraved sense of morality by telling her to get out of his sight before he shot her.

The Hunters looked once more to each other above the crying form of their roommate. It was a look that was full of meaning, full of regret. They had to think of something that could make her feel better. One began to look through the files of jobs put down on the docket needing completed for the next day and found one rather quickly, for it was damn near at the very top of the priority target list.

“Hey.” The Reaper put her arm over the Warlock’s shoulders, eliciting a side glance from the crying woman. “Ole Fikrul has made another appearance on the Shore. Job’s not been done yet, so you think all this hurt can be put to good use and let’s take him out tomorrow?”

A slow nod of her head was enough to convince both Hunters that she was going to be just fine. The two exited her room, shutting the door behind them and heading off to bed to sleep off their inebriation. The guardian fell back onto her bed, grabbing the closest soft thing she could grab to hold it snuggly over her face: a big, pink plush bunny.

“Prep for rez, Ghost.” She said, voice muffled against the dense plush of the stuffed animal.

Thanatonautics really wasn’t the best thing to do as a pre-bedtime ritual, but all she really wanted to do was die at the moment, so why not? The air slowly left her lungs, chest becoming tight as she suffocated herself with the stuffed bunny. The denser darkness that began to creep into her sight behind her closed eyes was soon replaced with color, and better clarity showed the color to be yellow. The color stayed only for a moment more before, suddenly, a dark shade of blue came out of nowhere, smothering the yellow like someone had closed the curtains in a brightly lit room. Seeing nothing else but these two colors, she was satisfied, and her Ghost helped her to regain her breath, mediating beside her to “breathe in, breathe out” as she forced her arm to bend outwards, sending the bunny careening over the side of the bed.

She put her hands over her face and sighed deeply. All she wanted the vision to tell her was if she, truly, was unlovable. That was it. Or perhaps she shouldn’t use almost killing herself as one would use a cheesy multi-page quiz in a magazine for teens?

The Warlock consigned herself to being sad for the rest of the night and simply crawled under the covers. As she sulked, she thought about the mission they were to do tomorrow. Would killing Scorn really make her feel better? She didn’t think so, but were sure that her friends would make a point of telling her that if she was unlovable, then Fikrul was. This wouldn’t make her feel better either, sadly. She drifted off to sleep, wondering if anyone could ever love her. 

 

When the guardian woke up next, it was the middle of the day. She opened her room door and called out to her roommates. No one answered. Then, she remembered what they had told her the previous night. ‘The Tangled Shore job! Oh!’ She thought, scolding herself for not setting some kind of alarm to wake herself up.

There wasn’t any kind of food left in the kitchen for her to grab a quick bite, plus the refrigerator door had been left open, so there was the fear of poisoning herself with anything that might’ve went bad in it. She was really hungry after last night, too. She couldn’t stomach anything after what’d happened, let alone food. Going back to her room, she quickly yanked on her armor and donned her robes. They were the same from last night, a consequence of her meticulously keeping track more of her roommates’ armor sets instead of her own. As she looked for the best sidearm she had, having to remind herself that she’d lent her best one to her roommates to ‘test out a mod’ for her, she tried to reach her friends on the comms. Her Ghost had tapped in to the Shore’s frequency, sifting through voice feed after voice feed, but nothing was coming up. She even tried calling out to them herself. The result was still the same.

The Warlock began to panic and she quickly grabbed a sniper rifle from beside her door, then had her Ghost transmat them to her ship. As she sped towards the Shore, she began to berate herself over letting her fireteam go without her. What if they had been captured by the Scorn? Or worse? The more reasonable part of her brain was trying to tell her that, maybe, the hunters were just not answering, and were messing around on the Shore after having killed Fikrul and his lackeys in his lair without her. This part kept getting silence though, and her anxiety of the previously imagined scenario drove her faster and faster until she practically tumbled out and onto the rocky surface of the Shore from her ship.

She righted herself, summoned her sparrow, and sped off towards the Hollowed Lair – the Fanatic’s hideout. After damn near running down twenty different scorn foot soldiers, and parking her vehicle in the face of a chieftan, she was now making her way through the place. Her super cleared out rooms as fast as she could cast it, scorn parts and walker scraps flying as far as the eye could see. This was about how their doing this mission together would’ve gone, as her two friends were really too concentrated on getting perfect precision kills in all the wrong situations to focus on a task like that. She would always let them take credit for kills that they didn’t get, though. It stung a little, when it came to the mission report, but she just enjoyed seeing her roommates happy.

The guardian slid into the last room, in the heart of the place, and looked downscope of her sniper. Her head swiveled left and right, searching for any sign of movement. There was none, not even the trace of an ether trail. She lifted her head and stood up straight. Some of the tension had begun to leave her shoulders. Maybe they had finished without her?

This thought became history when, suddenly, a door in the back of the room began to open up slowly. The guardian readied herself for a fight, but was confused when no one stepped through. An invitation in? Or a trap, more likely. Once again, she tried to contact the hunters on the comms.

“Do not bother, dead thing.”

A deep, familiar voice cut through the silence. She looked up to the door in time to see the Fanatic step out of the shadows. He was carrying her two friends by one leg in two of his four hands. They were dead.

She aimed her rifle at his head. “Where are their Ghosts, Fikrul?” Her voice was dangerously shaky, but this kept her hands and aim steady.

A scorn foot soldier came lumbering out behind the baron. Behind him, he dragged out a small cage, and inside were the two missing Ghosts. They had been damaged, but they weren’t dead. The Warlock lowered her weapon, her eyes darting between her dead friends and their imprisoned Ghosts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” She demanded.

Fikrul dropped the dead guardians and his scorn bound their arms behind their backs, and put chains around their knees to impede any chance of escape. The Fanatic approached her slowly, picking up the cage with the trembling Ghosts in it as he walked. The giant scorn stopped and stooped down to the Warlock’s level, holding up the cage for her. The Ghosts saw her and lamented aloud how they were so glad to see her.

“My children were playing with these and discovered some very… interesting sounds. Sounds that, I believe, are your ‘friends’ discussing you.” He told her, motioning to the hunters’ corpses.

The guardian looked at him, then to the Ghosts. They were whimpering now. What did he mean ‘discussing’ her?

“You are confused, I see.” Fikrul shook the cage, jarring the Ghosts around. “Make the sounds!”

They struggled to right themselves, then a recording began:

It was her roommates and the other hunter that was on their Gambit team. She didn’t hear her own voice, so this had to have been captured after she had left for her date. They were laughing. Laughing about her and the Sentry she was going to meet. A glimmer payment was discussed, along with the mention of previous payments from past jobs. The one being payed was the hunter not on her fireteam, and the buyer of their services was her roommates.

“If the glimmer wasn’t so good from you two, I wouldn’t think twice about doing this to your friend.” The spare hunter remarked. “So just tell em who she is?”

“Yep!” The Reaper affirmed. “No more, no less. She’s too good a house and vault keeper for us to lose to someone else!”

The recording ended with the two hunters laughing together.

The guardian’s blood had run cold. Fikrul saw how still she had become. He moved to her side and tossed the cage towards the dead bodies. She reached up, hands shaking now, and removed her helmet.

“Truth is a terrible thing”, Fikrul said, “but perhaps you would hear it from the source, rather than their talking orbs?” He motioned to the hunters.

She could hear the Ghosts almost crying for her not to do it, that they didn’t mean it. With a slow intake of breath through the nose, she passed her judgement.

“Revive them.” Her voice was as steady and sure as a heartbeat.

The Ghosts went quiet, then revived the deceased hunters. They gasped air back into their lungs and quickly discovered that they were bound at the hands and feet. The guardian didn’t bat an eyelash as they struggled to get sat up in their restraints. The two eventually saw her beside Fikrul.

“Get away from him, man!” The Reaper exclaimed. Both went back and forth explaining. “Fuckers’ ambushed us! Captured our Ghosts and everything! You’ve gotta…!”

“IT WAS YOU!”

The hunters went silent upon their soft-spoken friend’s burst of anger. They looked at each other, shocked, but it didn’t take them long to figure out what she might be mad about. One began to cry, but the other was still a little lost.

“Is this about my leaving the fridge open?”

A super blast flew past both of their heads, crashing into a pile of scrapped servitors and sending their pieces everywhere. They looked back at the Warlock and were scared to see that her face had not changed. It was evident that she was angry, but the calmness in her expression was terrifically spine-tingling. They weren’t close enough to see the stream of tears flowing down both of her cheeks.

“You paid that hunter to ruin my dates. Every. Single. One. Didn’t you?” The Warlock inquired, her super energy still surging in her clenched fists.

The Collector began to sputter. “Now, now wait a minute! That audio could’ve come from anywhere else in that place yesterday! How do you know it was…”

“DIDN’T YOU?”

They both cringed away from the angry guardian. She couldn’t see their faces behind their helmets, but she knew that at least one of them was now crying. ‘Good.’ She thought. This… this was what they deserved. To feel the pain of fear, for denying her a chance at happiness with another, several times. And what did they do it for?

She felt a large hand on her shoulder and looked up to Fikrul. The scorn motioned to the two terrified guardians with his staff. “What shall you do with these guilty dead things?”

Her gaze once again fixed itself upon her manipulators. They once again tried to convince her that they were still friends, and that they could fight their way out of this place, along the way making empty promises about their ways changing towards her when they did. Apologies flew out of their mouths like birds that had been trapped in a cage for hundreds of years. Her mind was made up, however, when they mentioned still having their Ghosts, and that they were still alive.

“Bring me their Ghosts.” She ordered.

A ravager ran over and picked up the cage. Once the initial shock of her blatant ignorance of their oh-so genuine words left them, the hunters both struggled more to get free, get to their Ghosts. The smaller scorn laid the cage at the feet of the Fanatic. The Warlock looked to him and raised her chin, a silent gesture of what she wanted him to do for her. Fikrul understood, then raised one foot high over the cage.

The Ghosts muttered a few last words to her. “We’re sorry.”

“I know.”

She kept her eyes on them as he brought his foot down hard onto the rickety cage, smashing the Ghosts underfoot as easily as one would crush a bug. The light from the Ghosts flew across the room in a giant burst of energy, and left the two hunters’ bodies in a flash of light, the energy disintegrating before their eyes. Once they were lightless, scorn began to move closer to them, ready to pounce and kill the vulnerable guardians. However, she raised a hand, and Fikrul stopped them in their bloodlust-fueled approach.

“Let them go now.” The guardian commanded.

“What?!?” The Collector hunter spat. He and the other crying hunter were carried out by several ravagers forcibly. Before they could leave the room with the two, that one got one last remark in. “We’ll die out there without you! We don’t have our powers anymore, you stupid bitch!”

Opting not to burst out in hysterical laughter, the Warlock instead turned to them, smiled sweetly, and stated. “That’s not my problem anymore.”

As they were taken the rest of the way out, to what would pretty much be their death at the hands of more powerful beings than them, both shot back remarks about her being a traitor, a rogue guardian, shouting something about Shin Malphur, who hunted guardians like her, before their voices became distant and, eventually, nonexistent. The guardian turned back to Fikrul, who had just been observing the whole ordeal.

“Their betrayal could not have been punished in a better way, little dead thing.” He remarked, and held one hand out towards her.

She knew what it would mean if she took his hand. This was an invitation. From his tone alone, she could hear the underlying message:

Join us in the darkness.

If those two managed to make it to safety, they would relay to the tower that she had gone rogue and joined sides with the Scorn. Something told her that, whether they made it or not, there really was no place left for her to go. The Last City? The Tower? Not to the places where she had been used and abused. The Vanguard had nothing left to offer her either. It was obvious that they could never be whole again without their Hunter Vanguard. She was ok with this, because she didn’t need this false sense of togetherness, a false sense of family. Her hand reached for the Fanatic’s.

The Scorn would be her family now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this seems rushed or choppy. I don't quite understand why I had such a hard time writing this out, but at least it's done now. Also it might be a tad bit indulgent, so don't cringe too much. XD Other than that, I hope you can still enjoy it. :)

Submission to the dark can be as pleasurable as it is freeing. 

The guardian stood inside of an underground cavern, deep within the Tangled Shore. She was staring out a window, a large hole cut out of the side of the piece of land, straining her eyes to count as many stars and planets as she could. This was common practice for her to do, especially when she was nervous. 

It’d been almost a month since the Scorn had accepted her as one of their own. She supposed that they would like her a lot more now, since she wasn’t killing their brothers and sisters in the name of the light anymore. The Warlock began by simply blending in with the crowd, and generally spending time with the foot soldiers of the faction. More and more, though, they began to take her under their wing. Or, more specifically, she began to take them under hers. For those Scorn who were very recently risen, it took a lot of getting used to being undead, which rendered them quite child-like in discovering their new and lost abilities. The guardian would comfort these Scorn, keep them company during nights when they felt especially cold. She would even read to them, on occasion, if they could not fall asleep. She enjoyed doing this, enjoyed being appreciated for her hard work at being useful to her new family. Most showed their affection or appreciation through gifting her small canisters of dark ether, and sometimes even weapons, either looted off of other guardians or hand-crafted. It’d been when the guardian was lying in a nest full of screebs, the explosive creatures purring and nuzzling into her as they slept, when the Fanatic had come to her. The Scorn Baron looked down upon her lightly dozing form, reaching down a hand to brush his large fingers across the guardian’s cheek. 

“The little ones have taken to you as moths to a flame.” He’d remarked, while she silently memorized the feel of his hand against her skin. 

‘There it was again.’ She’d thought. ‘That feeling of genuine care.’ 

After carefully climbing out from the nest, Fikrul had given her a set of coordinates to go to later. And, along with this, he’d given her a gift, which was currently being worn by the guardian – a new robe. The garment was a patchwork mess of different materials. Some were pieces of guardian armor, the others were different kinds of leathers or cloths, and a single chain wrapped around her waist as a final touch to the new look. 

“Thank you, my archon.” She’d bowed her head in respect. 

He raised her chin with a finger, kneeling to her level to look at her. “You deserve this, little dead thing. As will you deserve your reward for being as a mother to my children.” 

Remembering his saying this made her heart skip a beat. She closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach, wrinkling the fabric underneath in her fist. ‘A mother to his children?’ Did he mean by how she treated the other Scorn? Or, did he…? 

Her train of thought was derailed when a sound was heard behind her. She turned and saw Fikrul entering the room. A reaction she had taught herself to have, the guardian went to one knee and bowed her head. 

“Rise, lightscorn.” The Fanatic commanded as he approached. 

The guardian looked up and saw his extended hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet, then knelt before her. Another of his hands took her other hand and held them in front of her. 

“A reward was promised to you.” He reminded her. “However, I must know something first.”

The guardian had been so engrossed in thought that she’d forgotten all about why she was even there. “What do you need to know, my archon?” 

He took a moment to find the proper words, it seemed, then asked. “Does a male of your race call you their mate?” 

The Warlock felt her stomach drop when the question was fully processed in her mind. Not in a bad way did her stomach do this, but one could say that it was now so full of butterflies that it was close to bursting. The Fanatic, a mysterious and feared figure among the ranks of the Tangled Shore, the leader of the grotesque and undead Scorn, was asking her if she had a boyfriend? 

She swallowed hard, smiled, and answered. “N-no. I do not have a mate, my archon.” 

She dared not ask, for she truly feared that it would jinx her chances of what she hoped would come next. 

“Good, then follow me.” He said, rising to his full height. “I must ask you more.” 

The air in her lungs left in a single breath she’d been holding unknowingly. Fikrul led the Warlock deeper into the place, where the light of stars did not reach them, and the only lights came from lit sconces lining the walls and the archon’s arc-powered weapon. Their footsteps were the only sound she could hear above the rushing of blood in her ears. 

“Do you fear the dark?” He inquired. 

A quiet intake of air was taken before her response, as she had almost forgotten to breathe. “I respect and fear the darkness, my archon. Without it, beings such as myself would’ve had no place in this system.” 

A satisfied grumble emitted from him and she felt it in her chest. It was like a warm, inviting bloom of darkness, sprouting from the seed that is her light. She smiled for a moment, putting a hand to her heart, and remembered her Ghost. The two hadn’t spoken for awhile now, and she wondered how he was doing, being that he was now being watched over by a “friend” back in the tower. 

Fikrul raised a hand and signaled for her to stop. In the dark, she heard a large, metal door creak open, and inside was revealed to be a room with two large torches in the middle, and between them sat what looked to be a throne. He sat down in the large chair and motioned for her to join him. She approached and took his hand, her body being hoisted up and onto his larger bulk. The way she landed on him was at an angle to where she couldn’t see his helmeted head. However, this would change. The guardian dared not move from her position as she watched two of his arms move up, in her peripherals, to his head and come back down holding the ornamental helmet in front of her. 

“Behold my face, lightscorn.” He ordered. 

She obeyed and looked up. Most of his face was covered by the darkness in the room, but what she could see was that, out of all the Scorn she had seen out in the field, Fikrul had to be the most afflicted. His white eyes, a byproduct of the tainted ether, glowed brighter than the rest’s, a visible scar going down through one on the right side of his face. Patches of bulging muscle and skin peeked out at certain cracks in the skin of his neck and up the curves of his cheekbones and mandibles, and in them she could visibly see the necromantic ether coursing through his veins. A single hand placed itself on the small of her back and made its way slowly up the curve of her back. He was a sight to behold, no denying that, but seeing him like this was having an effect on her. He’d already been drawing her in before touching her, but now they were close enough to where she could feel his hot breath rushing down her clothed neck and back. 

“Would you follow me into the deep?” His mouth spoke next to her ear, voice penetrating into her core. 

She pulled back and looked into his eyes, reaching a hand up to his face and running a hand down the side of his afflicted face. “Yes. I will follow wherever you go.” 

The chain around her waist came undone and clattered to the floor from the chair, his lower set of hands going to work on the rest of her clothes. Fikrul couldn’t keep his hands off the guardian at this point. The Scorn baron had to keep his demeanor serious, and not lose control to his beastly desires just yet, before he had every answer from the guardian that he needed. But the way she clung to him this way, the sounds coming from this insignificant creature’s parted lips as she gazed lovingly up into his eyes, and her gentle touch was almost rapturous to the archon priest. She had bewitched him from the moment she passed judgement on the two lightbearers who had wronged her. The Fanatic admired her will and craved her body more each day she had been with his Scorn. 

He breathed out another questions, eager hands working to slide the robes from her smaller frame. “Will you give yourself to me, willingly, and me, alone? Be my bride?”

Unable to contain a moan when one hand’s claws finally connected with her bare flesh, her back arched and she leaned against his chest, becoming increasingly aware of the bulge she was feeling underneath her buttocks. “Yes, I willingly give my body to you, and only you, Fikrul, my husband.”

Fikrul could feel the guardian’s labored breathing and, now with the majority of her clothes gone, the heat between her legs. He had not mated with a female since before his transformation, and was just now realizing how starved for physical contact he was. The archon leaned his head down and inhaled the scent of her ambrosial arousal. She could smell him, as well. He smelled of sweat, dirt, and ether. It was a sweet and musty combination that attacked her senses with every breath she took, which were becoming more and more frequent the more her flesh was bared to the merciless touch of his four rough hands. When they began to move more southward, however, she was then willing to beg. 

“Fikrul...” The Warlock looked up at him, desperation in her voice and eyes. 

Seeing the guardian like this could’ve driven him mad with want. The pleading words passing her lips were music to his ears. “Yes, my bride?”

She could no longer find words, only actions. Her hips ground against his cock underneath the cloth of his robes that still covered the appendage. Fikrul audibly growled and ripped away the cloth, the rest of the guardian’s clothes, and moved himself to align with her entrance. She reached down and helped to guide him to her hole, gazing up at her more than eager Scorn baron. 

“Will you make love to me, O husband, mine?” She asked thought a near breathless smile. 

A single motion of his hips had his member lodge itself deep into the guardian’s womb as an answer. The guardian’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain, tears accumulating and running down her cheeks in an instant and her hand coming up and covering her open mouth. Fikrul stroked her hair and kept himself steady for a few moments. 

“Adjust to me, my love.” His voice was an octave lower, sounding more feral, more gruff than his natural voice. “I will move when told.” 

He wanted to tell her how incredible she felt, her tiny frame squeezing his cock in all the right places. A dead organ revived by the warmth of the living.   
After another minute, she spoke. “I… I’m ok. Move.” 

Once given the word, he began to pump himself in and out of her, rutting up into her harder with every thrust. Fikrul watched her face contort in pleasure, and reveled in seeing how he filled the guardian as he fucked her, observing the bulge in her abdomen. His two free hands began to fondle her breasts, tweaking her sensitive buds, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises for her to marvel at the next day. 

His thrusts suddenly became erratic, and she could feel her edge approaching quickly. She yelled out and moved her hips in time with his thrusts, focusing on memorizing this feeling, and each detail on his giant cock. He gruffly whispered one final thing into her ear.

“Cum, dead thing.”

Her vision went white. The dark universe around them, for a fleeting moment, was full of blinding, warm light, and she felt truly weightless. Fikrul practically roared and clung onto the guardian, his penis pulsating and filling her womb with his warm seed.

As she was filled to the brim, her vision began to blur. A shadow began to fall at the edges of her vision, engulfing her until all she saw was darkness. ‘This isn’t death. It is only the beginning.’ This was her final thought before she fell into a deep sleep in the arms of her undead husband, the ghost of a smile on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter was so much freaking fun to write, Goddang! So many good things happening: little bit of hurt here, little bit of morning sex there, it's all just leading up to the crescendo at the end. Think you guys are really gonna like this one. Please leave me a comment and tell me what you think! Also I highly recommend listening to the song 'Life Eternal' by Ghost during this, because I know I played the shit out of it whilst writing at least the second and third parts of this fic. 
> 
> -TheMadWriter121

When the guardian woke next, unsurprisingly, it was next to a corpse. The only difference this time was that this corpse was still breathing – and was now, technically, her hubby.

Even through the darkness consumed almost everything in the room around it, she could still see the massive form of Fikrul laying beside her, the glow of corrupted ether under his skin aiding her vision and revealing his sleeping face. His left two arms cradled her close to his body while his right two rested over her own body and blanket that he’d apparently gotten her after she’d fallen asleep. It was a good thing she had the blanket to cover her as well, because he had ripped her only good, on-hand set of robes during their ‘session’ last night. She bit her lip and smiled at remembering, her cheeks growing warm.

When she tried to move, the guardian discovered that her lower body was sore. Pleasantly so, but nonetheless stiff and bruised in some places. Her movement caused Fikrul to stir and the giant Scorn opened two bright, white eyes, then the other two upon seeing that his wife was awake. She greeted his gaze with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning.” The Warlock turned her body to face him, pulling the blanket up more over her bare body. “Sleep well?”

He leaned in and nuzzled her disheveled hair. “Better than I have in years. For I dreamt of my bride only to wake to her beside me.”

The guardian leaned into him more and he held her to his chest. “I hope it was a good sight for you, then. I’ve been told I look quite savage in the mornings.”

His chuckle was deep and warm in his chest and emanated to her own. “You have seen my children when they wake, restless and reborn. Now ‘our’ children.”

When Fikrul said this, the Guardian’s heart stopped suddenly. She sat up out of his embrace and he followed her with his eyes as she got up and walked a few feet away. In her nervous state that had turned into throws of passion last night, she’d forgotten all about a very important fact she needed to impart upon her new mate.

She felt his hand on her shoulder and he turned her around to face him. He said nothing and scanned her face, seeing the concerned look on his Guardian’s face. Fikrul could see the tears that threatened to run down her cheeks peaking at the corners of her eyes and he took her hand.

“Come and sit with me.” He said, leading her to his throne.

He helped her to sit down on the high seat, then knelt down to look her in the eyes. “Tell me what troubles you, my love.”

The Guardian swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then spoke. “Last night, when you said I was ‘as a mother to your children’, did you mean for me to… to…”

Fikrul reached and held her face in one hand. Two others drifted further downward onto the blanket that concealed her from his sight, holding her hips. He somehow knew what his mate was going to say, but knew she was too embarrassed to do so. “…to ‘bear’ my children?”

She just shook her head ‘yes’ and hid her face in her hands. The Fanatic would not see his bride in this state, though, so now he would tell her what he should have before he’d taken her as a mate.

“The inability to carry a child will not drive me away from you. Why should it… when I cannot give you a child?”

The Guardian opened her eyes wide and gasped quietly, covering her trembling lips. She thought for a moment then, and realized that she hadn’t actually heard of any live Scorn births – only resurrections. And apart from the Mindbender’s relationship, there had been no other reported relationships noted among their ranks. And the Hive hatched from eggs like normal Eliksni did, now that she thought of it. Scorn were strictly raised from the dead, so it would make total sense that most of their normal organ functions from life would be dead – including their reproductive system.

A single tear fell down the Warlock’s cheek. “I’m sorry, I… oh, Fikrul. I’m so sorry I didn’t know.”

The Scorn baron learned in and licked the tear from her face, reaching and removing her hand from over her mouth. Another fell on the opposite cheek and, as he went to lick it, Fikrul eased her down flat onto her back on his throne, hovering over his puffy-eyed bride. She still kept herself covered with her blanket, seemingly ashamed of what her body could not do.

“Do not be, my love.” He caressed her face, his thumb running over her lower lip. “The light and the dark are so very cruel, why would we put a punishment such as this past them? I would never forsake you for something as trivial as that. It does not make you any less desirable to me.”

The Guardian reached and touched his face, only holding the blanket together with one fist now. Fikrul closed his eyes in response, silently savoring the warmth of the light emanating from his love’s palm. She leaned up and began planting kisses on his face, but suddenly felt something wet flow over the back of her hand. He was crying now, too. She did the only thing that came to mind: she licked the tear from her hand, then did the same to the part of it that made it down his face. His eyes opened and she heard his breathing become more and more shallow. They looked at each other for a moment before his gaze traveled slightly downward to her covering. He didn’t have to say a word before she let go of it completely, baring herself to him once again. He met her gaze again and knew what she wanted.

The Warlock closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and was met with the taste of his tongue.

It seemed that their discovery of each others’ mutual sterility, strangely enough, had made both quite… needy.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as much as they could, pulling him closer into their makeshift kiss. Fikrul held the Guardian behind her head as his tongue went deeper into her mouth and into her throat, her own tongue struggling to swirl around his. She kept from gagging, thankfully, as the moans from what he was doing with the rest of his hands to the rest of her body kept it her throat well enough open to do so. Two clawed hands gently scraped and squeezed her fragile frame, running back over the scars and bruises of the night prior. He had marked her in a way, yes, but not… properly. No new marking tradition had been made for the Scorn, as they had turned their backs on the old Eliksni ways, but he supposed that the scratches and bruises could signify something more than what the Eliksni did when mating. Still…

…he wanted to go back to tradition, if only this once. He wanted to hear her cries of pleasure from it. He wanted to taste her in that most sacred way… among others.

Fikrul pulled away from the kiss and the Guardian chased his tongue as it left her mouth. Both were panting heavily, in need of one another more than ever.

She licked her lips and whispered, like a nearly silent breeze passing through her lips. “I love you.”

The long undead Scorn could’ve sworn he felt his heart beat once again, along with feeling himself harden below the waist. He could wait no longer. The Fanatic lowed himself on her body and began a trail with his tongue below her stomach, up over her navel, between her breasts and ending at her shoulder. His hot breath coated her skin with beads of condensation, tongue raking over his sharp teeth, before he spoke. “And I, you.”

With these words, he clamped down hard on the Guardian’s shoulder. She cried out in pleasured pain, throwing her hands onto his back and digging her fingernails into his skin. The Warlock felt his jaws clench tighter as she did this, and her blood began to flow onto the seat of the chair. Fikrul was in ecstasy. Her blood tasted divine, like the ambrosia of light; however, he did not want to hurt his mate any more than he wanted to, so he released her shoulder and began licking away the ruby liquid pouring from each tiny bite wound. The Guardian’s head lulled to the side as he licked her clean. She’d heard about Eliksni mating rituals before, but never could’ve imagined them to be as… enjoyable. And, unbeknownst to her, she had made another, erm… ‘mess’ down below. From the sheer force of the love bite, it seemed to have made her cum and she hadn’t even noticed it.

But Fikrul had.

She was suddenly pulled to the edge of the seat, her ass right on the edge his throne. Her legs were hauled over his shoulders and she automatically wrapped her legs around his head. His teeth were at her core, just hovering over her soaking wet pussy. She could’ve cried from want.

“I have wanted you like this from the moment you snuffed out those lights. Just like this. Quivering under me, like the dead thing you are, giving me the feeling of being alive again. Begging for me with your body…” He trailed off and gave her lower lips a slow, drawn out, rough lick.

Her back arched off the seat, her mouth open in a silent moan, hands grasping onto the edge of the seat – her only tether to reality at that moment. From that single action, the Guardian had grown so weak that she couldn’t even sit up, so she just lay there while the Fanatic continued to tease her with that unlightly tongue of his, until finally he found her entrance and plunged it deep within her womb. Her intermittent cries of “Yes!” and how her legs pushed him in closer to her sex were intoxicating, paired with the mere scent of her sex and every now and then peeking an eye open to see how he made her toss and turn from the feeling. One of his lower arms came up and over the edge of the chair and its hand found and took hers in it. She held on tightly, her fingertips barely cresting over the width of his palm.

The Guardian had never felt this loved, this cared for, or appreciated. Everything, absolutely everything, about this moment felt so good. She never wanted to leave here. She never wanted to leave him. Fikrul was ‘her’ fanatic, and she was his. The Guardian imagined years of this, serving by his side and caring for… for ‘their’ children. Tears of joy would fall from her ability to now happily think this very thought later. Right now, though… her world was once again filling with blinding white light… and another darker, more consuming cloud following in its wake.

Her veins ran cold – a cold that would keep her in his arms, despite the looming darkness, forever. 

 

A familiar, beat up-looking ship shot into the airspace of the Tangled Shore at an alarming speed.

The Spider’s foot soldiers didn’t even have time to look up and catch sight of it as they patrolled for the day. It sped over the length of the shore, past the edge of the biggest bulk of the rocky wasteland, and made its way into a less densely populated area of the space. Finally, it stopped at a large portion of land that’d been connected, and looked like it was currently being inhabited, given the large amount of symbols drawn on its side, and the banners draped over the edges.

Braking suddenly, the ship came to a halt so fast it almost flipped over. Two figures materialized on the top of the rock structure: a human man – a lightbearer, not a guardian, and a Ghost that was not his. The Ghost zoomed away quicker than the man could catch up with him, the lightbearer calling after the light with “Wait up!” and “Slow down, asshole!”

He saw the Ghost shoot downward eventually, and soon found the opening where he had done so. The man said a quick prayer for luck that this wasn’t a trap, then took a step forward and fell into the hole. Shockingly, at least to him, he had landed on a solid surface and was still alive. But he was now surrounded by darkness, and the only other thing he could see was the little ball of light looking around for its owner.

“Hey, kid!” The man called out. “Your Ghost almost got us both killed on the ride over here! You’ve scared him pretty good! Guy thinks you’re dead! So, come out and show him you’re not…”

He fanned out his arms in invitation, hoping for an answer. He would never admit it, but he didn’t wanna lose this Guardian, either. Not when she ripped it up so well in his ongoing scheme of a game. “…please?”

After a few more seconds of silence, his arms dropped to his sides with a defeated smack. He sighed and looked up to see that the accompanying Ghost was staring at something. Something right behind him. His heart dropped straight into his ass and he slowly turned around.

There was nothing but darkness beyond, until…

“Hello, Drifter.”

A pair of eyes opened in the dark, ones that glowed in the irises with an unnatural, white glow. But they did not come accompanied with the growl of a Scorn, or even the height of one. The Drifter stepped back and out into the light… stepped the Guardian. She was dressed in robes adorned with the Scorn faction’s symbol.

Her Ghost rushed to her side and nuzzled into her face. The Warlock held the tiny shell of light close and copied the gesture. She had missed him so much over the last month, but had been so scared that he would be taken out by a guardian sniping him from afar, or his presence being rejected by the Scorn, to keep him around. Fikrul had agreed to let her do this, convincing him to trust in her little light.

The Ghost backed off and quickly raced into her shoulder as if hitting her gently. “What happened to you?” He questioned accusingly. “I felt… I felt your light leave you! Like what happens when you…”

“Die?”

He stopped and just looked at her hard for a moment. She’d finished his sentence for him, but did not expect her to say it so candidly. “Yes.” He answered.

“I did die, yes, but only for a moment.” She walked past him and over to Drifter, hovering her hand over the glove she wore on the other. “However… look at this.”

She removed her glove and, to both her Ghost’s and Drifter’s surprise, her hand and arm looked completely different. The biggest difference being that her veins now glowed under her skin – glowed with the dark blue of the Scorn’s tainted ether.

Ghost had to float away for a minute after fully absorbing what he had just seen. Meanwhile, Drifter was bombarding her with questions. “What’s it feel like to ‘really’ be a part of the dark now, hot shot?”, among other questions of the sort, but the biggest question came from her Ghost, who just had to know:

“Exactly ‘who’ did that to you?”

She simply smiled as heavy footsteps approached from behind her: Fikrul. Drifter, out of habit, grabbed the handle of Trust in his belt, but didn’t pull it just yet. The Scorn Baron came closer and knelt down beside of the Guardian, two hands on her hip and shoulder, holding her close.

“She is truly one of us now.” His gravelly voice stated.

Once again, Ghost had to float away for a few seconds, this time floating up and down more erratically, clearly perturbed by what was transgressing here. And Drifter, seeing that he was going to have to ask the ‘big question’ here, looked at the both of them, and asked:

“So, where’s the ring?” He asked in a singsong voice, hands on his hips.

She looked around sneakily, a sweet but sly smile spreading on her lips, and she moved one side of her robe’s collar over slightly, revealing several teeth-sized red marks.

Drifter laughed, reeling back and clapping his hands together. “Sister! You’ve got the meanest streak this side of the Darkness AND the Light! Knew there was a reason I liked you so good.”

It took some time, but she finally got her Ghost to talk with her new ‘husband’. He promised the little light that he would protect her from all harm, as best he could. She didn’t really believe her Ghost when he had said ‘Ok then, I’m trusting you on this one. Even after what you and yours did to Cayde and the Shore.”, but she knew that he would have to be genuine in his words, if only for the sake of her continued happiness – even if it was as a Scorn.

Drifter, surprisingly, agreed to keep her Ghost for as long as she was still up and at em… and willing to drop into Gambit and Gambit Prime every few moons to kick some serious ass invading again. “What those punks did to you wasn’t Kosher at all. I’d have done the same thing… but it would definitely depend on who the giant alien was helping me do the deed for me to decide whether I’m gonna sleep with em or not. It’d also depend on how hungry for food I am at the time.”

The Guardian hugged the Gambit gamemaster and said goodbye to both of them, giving her Ghost a kiss on his shell before he floated off, and an assured “I will be alright. I love you.” before watching them fly off in the Derelict, hearing the Drifter say something to her Ghost about his ‘rig’ still being there when they got back, or there’d be trouble.

Weeks went by, and the Spider eventually caught wind of a certain guardian having been made into the ninth and final Baron of the Scorn. One that did not fight, but stayed in the background, supporting her family, and her Fanatic. He chuckled when he updated his data pad that day, and typed in:  
“The Scornmother. Abandoner of Light, and Mate of the Fanatic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment on this fanfic. I like to hear back from my readers, please tell me how I did or what you liked about it. Thank you. :3


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